


Actions Speak

by multipurposetoolguy



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Adventure, Angst, Bible Quotes, Character Study, Coping, Flashbacks, Fluff, Gen, M/M, Magic, Panic Attacks, Shmoop, So much schmoop, disgusting sentimentality, i am the king of fluff, i will add tags and characters as they show up and each chapter will have tags if it needs them, introspective, its credence theres gonna be a few
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-01
Updated: 2017-04-09
Packaged: 2018-10-14 09:01:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10533195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/multipurposetoolguy/pseuds/multipurposetoolguy
Summary: A collection of 30 semi-cohesive drabbles/one shots all focusing on little snippets of the unique lives and relationship between a lonely magizoologist and an equally lonely obscurial.





	1. Gaze

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm trying to buckle down and do this! My wonderful supportive cousin [WrittenFire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WrittenFire/pseuds/WrittenFire) does one of these every April for Spirk (which you should definitely go read right now oh my goodness), and her enthusiasm never fails to make me want to join in! So here I am with these two boys who are very close to my heart, and I think it'll be a lot of fun! 
> 
> Every chapter will be based around a different verb, and in some way or another the chapter will be inspired by either the definition of the word or what that word invokes in me. 
> 
> without further ado, enjoy!

Newt Scamander had for months now had the express pleasure in seeing Credence get the chance to bloom in an environment that didn't seek to starve and freeze and beat him, and while it had been weeks since he'd any sort of incorporeal incident, Credence still had a tendency to... disappear.

Sometimes Newt had enough tact to know what it was that sent him shuffling off to reflect in solitude; the first time Credence had dropped a plate from between soapy fingers and it shattered in the dirt at his feet, he'd immediately gone stiff and moved to stand before Newt, expecting correction, and then seemed to catch himself feeling somewhere else, and he'd backed out of the room with stammered niceties before Newt could even mutter a quick 'repairo'. He'd made three attempts at knocking at Credence's makeshift bedroom door with tea in hand before going to solemnly tend to the Bowtruckles until he'd had enough space and re-emerged.

Sometimes, though, Newt had no idea why Credence was cast with the grey sheet of a melancholy mood. Reading behavioral cues in humans was never his strong suit (they aren't the most honest or straightforward creatures, in his defense), but he new better than to ever question why someone who'd suffered as much as Credence had would need more than a little bit of time to process it all.

He didn't tuck himself away in the same places, either. Once Newt had passed by the now empty Thunderbird enclosure and was surprised to find Credence, sitting at the base of Frank's rock perch and twiddling with some weeds, lost in thought. Another time he'd been rummaging around the shed looking for the sprigs of lemongrass that he had _just seen_ that morning, and he had wrenched open a low cupboard only to be greeted by not lemongrass, but brown eyes shock-wide and hands around knobby knees. Not one to judge any living thing's coping mechanisms, Newt had been terribly English about it and stuttered out an 'oh, terribly sorry, I'll just, ah,' and gently closed the cupboard door.

On this particular evening, down in his case and reaching the second hour of one of Credence's absences, Newt wandered into the Mooncalf enclosure bucket of feed in hand to the distinct absence of excited, hungry Mooncalves.

He glanced around their habitat and spotted them, thank Merlin, gathered on the peak of their mossy little hill around the straight back and soot-black curls of his unlikely companion.

Credence had his back to Newt, and his face was turned up to the almost-real moonlight, his cheekbones and jaw shining like sharp ivory. He was scratching beneath the chins of two every contented Mooncalves in either hand, and had what looked like three of them asleep in his lap, and as the rest of them were focused on getting his express attention, Newt didn't think any of them new he was there.

"It’s calm in here, quiet. And they don’t seem to mind the company.”

Newt paused. So it was only the Mooncalves who were oblivious to his barging in, apparently.

“No, in fact I suspect they rather enjoy it.” Newt said plainly, hearing the smile in his own voice. “They haven’t yet noticed I’ve brought their dinner, they must be sold on you.”

Credence turned his head, not enough to look at him but enough for newt to see his smile, edged in moonlight. As if on cue, the Mooncalves all turned their enormous eyes on him, finally noticing the pellets in his hand and they all raced down their little knoll, swarming Newt like the hungry buggers they were. Credence didn’t move except to lean his frame against the tree sprouting from the top, his shoulders gently rising and falling as he lets out a soft sigh.

His charges disperse to poke around their habitat, now well fed and drowsy, and Newt shifts on his feet, not wanting to intrude on Credence’s introspection but feeling the familiar desire to nurture someone who’s so plainly hurting.

“Are you, are you alright, Credence?”

Credence tips his head back and takes a deep breath, eyes closed and face smooth and serene. The moonlight clung to his skin like gossamer robes, making him look almost ethereal, not of this world or any other. He sort of was, in a way, Newt thought with a sorrowful pang in his chest. He didn’t belong in the No-Maj world, his own insides roiling and vibrating and never letting him forget, and yet the wizarding world wants nothing to do with him, content to brush his very existence under a bloody great rug -or worse- and pretend that what happened to Credence Barebone doesn’t happen to anyone at all.

It makes him look so terribly lonely.

He hums an unsure sound, letting his head down to rest against the roughened skin of the tree. When Credence finally speaks his voice is soft but solid, unwavering and utterly calm.

“No, but I feel like I can be.”

Newt lets out a breath that tumbles into a soft chuckle, because damn if that wasn’t the most hopeful thing he’d ever heard Credence say.

Credence _is_ going to be okay, someday, and Newt knows now more than ever that nothing is going to keep him from being right there alongside him, every step of the way, even if he sometimes has to disappear to gaze up at the moon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> off to a good start I hope! comments and kudos really inspire me to do this guys, it'd absolutely warm my heart if you'd let me know if you're enjoying this ride with me! 
> 
> Thanks for reading! :)


	2. Brighten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was a ton of fun, giving me serious Indiana Newt feelings! :P
> 
> also tiny warning for a teensy bit of blood and injury!

“Credence are you alright? Cre-  _ argh,  _ Credence are you hurt?”

Newt’s voice bounced off the rocky walls around them from somewhere to his left, but Credence couldn’t see him. He couldn’t see anything, to be quite honest, their little tumble sending them straight into a cave that leads goodness knows where.

They were in Brazil, their third week in the country and seventh month since leaving New York, chasing sightings of a group of Clabberts with a rare coloration pattern for Newt to include in the South American chapter of his book. They’d found the creatures’ home tree and had eagerly scrambled up to perch on nearby branches, Newt, wand behind his ear, sketching the strange nest patterns and Credence very carefully collecting loosed baby-teeth and horn sheddings just as Newt had taught him. 

Newt’s branch sat a foot or two above Credence’s, and when Newt saw something entirely unexpected and let out a gasp, cautiously inching out towards the thinner end to see if that was in fact a very rare and very nearly extinct yellow Snidget, a sickening crack had split the quiet of the forest. Newt froze, Credence’s head snapped up, eyes wide, and before he could move a muscle the branch fell out from under him with a splintering crack. Unfortunately gravity still applied to overexcited wizards and Newt crashed down into Credence, who’s branch then gave way as well under the increased weight. 

Before Newt could so much as mutter  _ ‘Merlin’s hairy arse’  _ they were hitting the ground and tumbling ass over teakettle down into a ravine, and there must have been a landslide not too long past because they slipped right between two dislodged boulders and down into a hole, the rocks rolling heavily into place from impact with a deep rumble, sealing them in. 

“I’m fine, I’m okay, I’m not-” He tried to stand from where he’d landed and a sharp pain shot up his right leg when he put his weight on it. “ _ Ah-  _ okay, I’m a little bit hurt. I think I sprained my ankle. Are you okay?” He groped around blindly in front of him until he hit the rough khaki of Newt’s vest and held on tight. 

“Just knocked my head a bit, it smarts but I’ll be fine. Let me just-” Credence could hear him pat down his shirt, all his pockets, and he swore softly and started patting more frantically. “Oh bugger all, I can’t find my wand, it’s probably up some curious primate’s nose just now, bloody brilliant.” 

Credence gave Newt’s chest a pat and fumbled to grab hold of his shirt sleeve, trying to calm his own breathing. “It’s okay, everything will be fine, we’ll be fine. Surely this isn’t the most terrible and unexpected thing to have happened while doing fieldwork, right?” In and out, deep breaths, don’t think about being trapped in a dark and cramped cave for the rest of your miserable life. In and out, in and out. It would hardly do to loose his grip and let the obscurus out in a place like this, he’d probably break the already tenuous rock ceiling above them and get them both crushed to death, and his shadow would get swallowed up in this darkness, besides. 

Newt must have been able to feel Credence starting to shake, because he gave Credence’s hand a squeeze where it was balled in his sleeve and set to trying to take a few blind steps forward. “Well, no, I suppose this isn’t the most  _ immediately  _ dire and life-threatening situation I’ve been in, if it helps.” He tried to take another step but the ground beneath them was jagged and uneven, and his foot fell a good two inches farther than he’d anticipated and he’d stumbled, grabbing at Credence for support. 

“I once spent 12 hours up a short tree and upwind from a rather irritated and territorial Nundu, which to this day is a situation I’m not entirely sure how I got out of.” 

“Maybe it got tired of being downwind from you.” Credence offered, eyes closed in the dark and just trying to focus on Not Freaking Out. 

Newt huffed a surprised laugh, and Credence realized that no, he hadn’t said that in his head, and that he’d just implied that Newt smelled. Not only was he going to starve to death in a deep dark hole in the ground, but he was going to die having just called his closest friend-housemate-mentor- _ important person _ stinky. 

“I didn’t mean-”

Newt grabbed at his hand again and continued to chuckle, this time prying open Credence’s panic-tight grip to slip his hand in his, a more solid connection between them. “You’re probably right, weeks and weeks in the Savannah without company to shower for makes a man positively rancid, I can personally attest.” The fact that he could hear the grin in Newt’s voice somehow made it better and worse simultaneously. 

Newt’s (humiliating) chuckling was cut short when he stumbled again. “Ah- Alright, we can’t very well scuttle through this unpredictable wherever-we-are inch by inch, especially with your ankle. We need light, if I had my bloody wand..” Newt swung their hands between them in thought or agitation or both, and Credence had a thought. 

“Couldn’t you ah, can’t you do some spells without your wand? Like-” Like Mr Graves had done. “Like him.”

Newt gave a defeated sigh. “I’ve always been rubbish at wandless magic, I’m afraid. Takes an incredible amount of practice, it’s essentially a study all in its own, and some people are just naturally better at it than others.” 

Suddenly Newt paused in his shuffling, and stopped their hands midair out in front of them. He could almost feel Newt turning his gaze on him in the dark. “It takes quite a lot of natural power to achieve, and some people are naturally stronger at it, and we know  _ I  _ can’t do it, but…” Newt left the sentence to dangle, for Credence to pick up and put together himself, but he couldn’t be saying what it  _ sounds like  _ he’s saying, because-

“That’s impossible, Newt, I can hardly do magic  _ with a wand,  _ what makes you think I can do what you can’t?”

“You can do a great many things that I can’t do, Credence.” Credence glared in his general direction, thinking that ‘turning into a huge murder-cloud of rage and pain’ shouldn’t count. “And nothing is impossible.” Okay, Newt kind of had him there. If you’d asked him now to stretch the limits of his imagination and rely that to the sharper, sadder version of himself from seven months ago, he’d probably have called the police on himself. Or worse, his mother. 

“I’ve never even done that spell before, a spell for light.” The wind was leaving his sails, and if it turned out that he couldn’t do wandless magic after all, at least he wouldn’t be able to see the disappointment in Newt’s eyes. And he  _ did  _ very much want to get out of this crumbling hole in the ground. 

“But you’ve seen me do it! Plenty of times, I’m sure of it. Now, let’s give it a go, shall we?” Newt unclasped their hands to give his shoulder a reaffirming squeeze. “Just concentrate, focus your energy into your- hands, I suppose, in place of a wand, and say-”

_ “Lumos.”  _

The word passed between his lips like a soft breath of wind, and he could feel a wave of energy tingling down his arms, racing towards his hands as suddenly, his palms started to glow a ghostly blue. The light flicked and wavered as Credence struggled to keep his concentration, but it was enough to make out Newt’s face in the dark, grinning fit to crack his face in two. 

It was also bright enough for the light to catch in the blood trickling down Newt’s temple, and the light fizzled out as Credence startled, grabbing out clumsily at Newt’s face. 

“Newt you’re  _ bleeding,  _ why didn’t you tell me-!”

“Credence you did it! I  _ knew  _ you could, that was  _ amazing!  _ I’ve never been able to do that in my  _ life!”  _ Newt intercepted Credence’s hands and held them between them in excitement, nearly bouncing up and down as if Credence had just told him that yellow Snidgets weren’t nearly extinct after all. 

“Go on, do it again! Now we can find our way out of here properly and hopefully find those decidedly-more-troublesome-than-anticipated Clabberts.” 

He released Credence’s hands and took a tiny step back, giving him some space. Credence took in a deep, slow breath, focused all of that live-wire tingling inside him that he now knew to be his magic, and let it out. 

_ “Lumos.” _

The light in his palms was brighter this time, and steadier, carving up the rock around them with shadows between his fingers. 

This time when Newt beamed over at him, Credence beamed back. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Clabberts are apparently little frog-monkey things with luminescent growths on their foreheads that glow when they sense danger, and Golden Snidgets are the predecessor to the Golden Snitch, and were almost driven to extinction by their widespread use in Quidditch! Man, being a late bloomer hp fan you learn some fun stuff! 
> 
> also don't worry about Credo and Newt, with his newfound spellcasting ability they found their way out of the cave quick enough, and Newt found his wand and all was well! i just couldnt resist leaving it on that sweet line c:
> 
> Let me know what you guys think! :)


	3. Mend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I am supremely late but im trying guys im!!! I am. This one really got away from me so enjoy a longer chapter I guess??
> 
> also I really abused creature names in this, I feel like there should be some sort of limit to how many name-drops I can give to newt's beasts in one sitting. wow.

Credence let it happen about six times before bringing it up.

“Newt,”

He was sitting in one of the Goldsteins' plush armchairs, feet tucked under him and one of Tina’s mystery novels sitting open in his hands. Newt had just clambered up out of his case, which was sitting squarely in the middle of the parlor floor, and he was patting down the front of his waistcoat, the pea green fabric sporting a few new jagged rips and hanging awkwardly on his frame. 

“By the Bard, Amelia really has quite an awful temper when she’s in season,” Newt shook his hair out and murmured a quick  _ repairo  _ to fix his clothes, and Credence smirked privately at the image of Newt simultaneously running from and parentally scolding a massive, hot-and-bothered Nundu. He seemed to catch himself, and his breath, and continued. “Yes, Credence?”

“Do you use a spell for it every time that happens? When you tear your clothes, I mean.” He watched the last few threads lace themselves back together seamlessly, as if nothing had ever been amiss. 

“Well technically speaking  _ I’m  _ not the one usually tearing my clothes, as Amelia herself could attest, but yes, it’s more practical than binning it and buying a new one, I suppose.” 

Credence hummed, trying to work out how to phrase his question, which was ironic considering he’d spent nearly a week watching Newt magically stitch his clothes back together trying to figure out the best way to bring it up. 

Newt was eyeing him oddly, in that way that meant Newt didn’t know what he was getting at but was giving him the space to find the words, and possibly his courage.

“The next time you need something mended, would you mind if I, well, if I did it? The mending?”

Newt sat down heavily on the sofa across from him, narrowing his eyes and trying to suss out if he was missing some obvious nuance of the conversation and left to scramble at the appropriate human response. He wore this look often, and Credence knew it well. 

“I couldn’t ask you to fix my clothes for me, Credence, I had hoped I’d made it clear that you didn’t have to do a thing to earn your place here.” he said gently, but firm enough to show that that was a fact on which he would not budge. 

“I’m asking  _ you,  _ Newt, it’s really no trouble and to be honest, I... enjoy doing it.” He purposefully didn’t comment on having to pay Newt back, that was a conversation for another day, and he was quite proud of himself for the casual tone of his voice so far, so he decided he’d count his victories. 

Newt cocked his head to the side in a way that Credence thought made him look quite like a certain curious Demiguise. “What, hand-stitching? I admit I’ve never found it an enjoyable experience myself, too many pricks to the fingers I think.” He breathed out a chuckle and smiled somewhere around Credence’s shirt collar before meeting his eyes briefly. “Muggles have machines that do that sort of thing, how did you come to enjoy stitching?”

Credence took a moment before replying, trying to decide if this particular detail from his past was going to be the kind that would suddenly make Queenie’s eyes wet as she solemnly sighed ‘oh, honey…’ as she plucked it from his head. Newt was probably the best out of all of the people in his life that he could now call friends at not making a show of how horrible his childhood had been, which pushed Credence to just go on and say it. 

“I only ever had one change of clothes at a time before I grew out of them, living at the church, and I learned pretty quick how to make them last. My sisters’ clothes as well, Modesty would always prick her fingers too…” He gazed unseeingly down at the book in his hands for a minute, lost in a memory of his youngest sister snorting in surprised laughter when she noticed that Credence had stitched up the torn hem in her white Sunday Mass dress with bright green thread, seams on the inside so only she could see. It was one of his very few memories where both of them were smiling at the same time. 

“It’s soothing, I guess, methodical. All the stitches in a row, patterns to follow and making things whole again, I don’t know, it just-” He looked up to find Newt watching him intently with an odd look in his eye, so he shrugged minutely and glanced back down. “I just enjoy it.”

After a minute of Newt not saying anything Credence was worried he was going to pity him after all, but when he looked up and met Newt’s eyes he was smiling at him, ever so softly. His eyes looked even warmer than the charmed fire licking away in the hearth beside them, and it certainly wasn’t pity but it was  _ something.  _

“If it would make you happy, I have no problem with that at all, Credence. Just don’t feel obligated, alright? If I suspect you’re doing this because you feel you’re required to I’ll set my best spies on you, and Pickett is very sneaky when he wants to be.” Newt smiled wider and actually  _ winked  _ at him, and Credence could already feel his face heating up. 

“Though I suspect his loyalty has swayed, he seems to be squirreled away in your hair more often than mine these days.” He added, and if he weren’t properly blushing just yet that had sure done the trick, he was sure he looked like a candied apple sitting there in Queenie’s plush mint green armchair. 

Credence didn’t know quite what to say about Pickett’s swayed allegiance, so he just smiled lightly up at Newt as he rose from the sofa, popping his back and walking past him into the Goldsteins’ kitchen, no doubt in search of some decent tea. Newt gave Credence’s shoulder and gentle squeeze as he passed, and it set what remaining nerves he had to rest.

Setting his book aside, Credence rose from his seat and wandered off to ask Queenie about lending him some thread. 

 

\--------------

 

Newt was a little bit awkward and stuttery the first few times he brought a garment to Credence to fix, but eventually it became a comfortable routine. Newt told him probably too often how sturdy his stitching was, and how neat it all looked and  _ ‘it never looked this good with magic, I’m certain of it.’,  _ and while Credence knew exactly what he was doing, it felt good to hear all the same. 

Once they were both comfortable with their arrangement, Credence started to get a little bolder with his repairs. Nothing too extravagant, he only had one slightly scarred set of hands and he knew Newt would feel awkward wearing opulent designs when he’s tromping around in mud and creature mess all day, but Credence was starting to let himself have a little more fun with it. 

He monogrammed all of Newt’s shirts at the corners, stitched a little Niffler-esque shape near the pocket on his favorite waistcoat where his pocket watch usually sat, and he’d even been so bold as to stitch a little garden of flowers around the pocket of Newt’s coat that Pickett favored, to make him feel at home. 

Sometimes Newt wouldn’t notice right away, and Credence thrilled in catching him when he finally noticed the smaller details of his work, stopping mid stride or even mid sentence, a small gasp escaping his lips like it did when a new baby Occamy was breaking through its shell for the first time. Then he’d snap his head up and find Credence’s gaze, his eyes so honey-warm and soft that Credence always had to break away first, unable to stop the proud smile from creeping across his face.

Credence was sitting crossed legged under a tree in Newt’s case, Dougal dosing in his lap as he pondered borrowing some of the Demiguise’s hair to weave into invisible thread when Newt came bounding up to them, his customary blue coat hanging across his arms like a fallen soldier. Judging by the look on Newt’s face that wasn’t too far off; he looked positively shaken. 

“Newt? What’s wrong, did that vent seam rip open again?” Credence gently lifted Dougal and set him on the plush grass beside him, where he rolled over snuffling and went right back to his nap. He held his arms out to inspect the coat and Newt laid it gently into his hands, sitting down beside him.

“It’s the back, I was on my way up for groceries and I almost forgot to check on the Bundimuns -Lucinda has been a bit under the weather lately, you recall- and, well,” Newt paused, starting and stopping a few times like words in his mouth tasted funny. “I think she… sneezed on me?”

Credence blinked. And blinked again. “She sneezed on you. A Bundimun.” He said, deadpan, almost certain he’d heard him wrong. If he recalled correctly from his initial tour of the case, Bundimuns looked to him like rather nasty patch of mold, not like anything that even remotely had a nose to sneeze with. 

“She made a dreadful gurgling sound and suddenly acid was flying at me, I don’t know what else it could’ve been! I didn’t even know Bundimuns  _ could  _ sneeze, which is incredibly fascinating and I’m definitely including it in the book, but it seems to have done a number on my coat and…” He trailed off, the momentary excitement of making a new discovery dampened again by a sad look on his face and his eyes downcast.

Credence turned the fabric over in his hands, the entire bottom half of the back of the coat was spattered with jagged holes of varying sizes, tinged a sickly brown around the edges where the acidic mucus ate clean through. 

Credence tried to sound optimistic as he asked, “Couldn’t you fix this one with a bit of magic? I can’t really stitch up what isn’t there to stitch…” He trailed off when his suggestion had the opposite effect, and Newt managed to somehow look even  _ more  _ like a kicked puppy. Or a kicked Kneazle, maybe, given that it’s Newt. 

He sighed sadly. “Most common magic doesn’t work on damage caused by a magical creature, essentially the forces cancel out.” Newt wrinkles his brow for a moment in thought. “I know I could just get another coat, that’s not the problem, it’s just-” He meets Credence’s eyes for a rare moment, that more than anything cementing the severity of the situation. “You’ve put so much work into fixing this one for me every time I go and muck it up, and Pickett is fiercely fond of his little flower patch, he hardly lets me anywhere without him now, and…”

Credence holds his breath; Newt still hasn’t looked away, and he isn’t going to do anything to make him skittish and break eye contact. Newt sighs and looks almost embarrassed, vulnerable, when he continues. 

“Since you’ve had a hand in it this coat is, well, it’s special. To me.” 

He finally looks away, eyes down over his wringing hands, and Credence lets out his breath. “I’d hate to have to retire it, after all you’ve done to improve it, and over a sneeze of all things.” Just like that the odd intensity in the air fizzles out and they both have to chuckle at that, the wonderful absurdity that was just another day living in Newt Scamander’s suitcase. 

Credence thinks for a moment, rubbing circles into the fabric with his thumbs. “There is  _ something  _ I can do, though it won’t look very… professional.”

Newt’s grin is absolutely dazzling, and Credence thinks briefly that that’s what drinking giggle water must feel like, looking at Newt’s face and feeling the way it’s making him feel inside. 

“Perfect.”

 

\--------------

 

After respectfully raiding Queenie’s collection of scrap fabric (with her permission and enthusiastic assistance, of course) and convincing Newt  _ not  _ to wait outside his work station biting his nails like he were sitting in a hospital waiting room, Credence was more or less satisfied with the end result. Newt’s eagerness at the prospect of it looking less than prim and proper led Credence to choose some…  _ interesting  _ fabrics to patch up the coat, but this was apparently Newt’s  _ very favorite  _ coat (for reasons Credence couldn’t dwell on without feeling… things) and the last thing he wanted was to fall short of Newt’s expectations. 

With a deep breath he picked up the repaired garment and walked out of his workroom, Newt sitting on a chair by the wall waiting for him because of course he was. Credence turned the coat around so Newt could see the repairs, and he meant to sound playful but his  _ ‘ta da!’  _ came out sounding a bit wobbly under the pressure. 

He’d picked fabrics that stood out to him as decidedly Newt to patch the holes with, and he wasn’t exaggerating when he said it wouldn’t look cohesive. There was a patch of yellow and white striped fabric, because it reminded Credence of Newt’s favorite yellow waistcoat. A patch with tiny leaves patterned across it, for the Bowtruckles and all of Newt’s stories of wandering through jungles out in the field. A patch of deep purple, dotted with silver stars, for nights spent laid out in the Mooncalf enclosure while Newt taught him all the constellations that he’d never seen, living in the big city. A patch of paisley, because the shapes were friendly-looking, a patch of muted pink roses for how Newt had described his mother’s wallpaper in his childhood home, a black and gold geometric pattern that Tina had picked out, a teasing reminder that if he ever came into her country without the necessary permits again MACUSA would be hot on his tail. 

It should look a mess, Credence knew, not a single fabric he’d picked matched with the coat or each other in any discernible way, and he was starting to worry that he’d gone too far, made it too silly-

“What’s-?” Newt had walked over and was holding the bottom hem of the coat in his hands reverently, poking gently at an acid burn still exposed. Though just when his finger touched it the hole disappeared, turning a silvery white. 

“That one’s to remind you to stay humble, that you aren’t invincible.” He gave Newt a wry smile. “Dougal helped me out with that one.” 

Newt’s grip on the hem of the coat went white-knuckled and shook ever so slightly as he took in each patch at length, giving each one his full admiration and attention. Credence began to squirm under the scrutiny.

“I probably went a little bit overboard, I know it clashes something awful, I can change any of them if you don’t like th-” 

He was cut off as Newt snapped his head up to look at him, taking a shuddering breath. “It is, without a doubt, my favorite piece of clothing that I have ever owned.” His words shook with underlying emotion, and his eyes looked red around the edges which, Credence couldn’t comprehend that Newt liked it enough to move him to  _ tears-  _ “It’s absolutely perfect.” 

There was that grin again, that blinding and earth-shattering grin, that made him feel like he did the first time Jacob had taken them all out to dinner and he’d tried soda pop for the first time. All fizzy bubbles and too much sugar and almost electric on his tongue. 

Newt dropped the hem of the coat and took it gently from Credence’s hands, slipping his arms through and shrugging it on like he couldn’t wait one more second. He raised his hands and only hesitated for a second before gently cradling Credence’s face, thumbs swiping softly over his cheeks and just- looking at him.  _ Really  _ looking at him. 

He let out a watery breath and pulled Credence into a tight embrace that was as warm as his eyes, warm as the Goldstiens’ fireplace, and warmer than anything Credence had ever used the word for before. Credence raised his arms up and clung to Newt, to this feeling, and just as he was starting to forget where they were and that they probably should separate sometime soon, Newt spoke into his ear, soft and just for him. 

“Thank you Credence, thank you so much.” 

 

\--------------

 

Eventually they did separate, and that day was so full of shy smiles and light contact that Credence felt like all the kids he used to see walk home from school when he was handing out pamphlets, shy girls and blushing boys with hands linked together, flowers in their hair. Newt being so pleased with his repairs was a huge relief, and now that he knew that he’d made the right choices, the fun had only just begun. 

There was one addition to the coat that Newt hadn’t noticed yet, a small and unassuming patch stitched into the inside lining, just below the collar where it rests flush with his spine, behind his heart. It was just a simple square of black fabric, stitched with small, precise words in white thread. 

It was a bible verse, from when the words gave him hope and a sense of calm before his mother turned them into weapons. 

 

_ When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; _

_ and when you pass through the rivers, they will not sweep over you.  _

_ When you walk through the fire, you will not be burned;  _

_ the flames will not set you ablaze. _

 

He hoped it would make Newt remember to care about his own well-being now and then, to not be reckless in his pursuit of knowledge and new beasts across the horizon. He hoped the words would soak up some of his magic and help keep Newt safe, act as a piece of him that would go wherever Newt went, and protect him. 

Newt hadn’t noticed it yet, but it was only a matter of time, and Credence couldn’t wait to see him find it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bundimuns are creatures who resemble mold patches with eyes, and they ooze a dangerous acidic substance. The more you know!
> 
> The last bit was heavily inspired by Ezra talking about how Colleen Atwood sewed a special patch into the back of his Credence coat to ground him and remind him to stay true to himself and not lose himself in Credence's pain, and I thought it was just so achingly sweet and beautiful I had to draw from it. 
> 
> Also the Bible verse is Isaiah 43:2!
> 
> Comments and kudos are greatly appreciated! :D


	4. Fall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so late, but I'm trying! Even if I'm not done by the end of April I want to push myself to do all 30 regardless.

“Come along Credence, but mind the floorboards, they’re a bit dodgy.” 

“Are they? I didn’t notice, aside from the fact that my foot has gone through  _ three of them.”  _

“Oh dear, do we need to get your eyes checked, Mister Barebone?” Newt was smirking into the dingy light, tickled pink and quietly proud that Credence was comfortable enough around him to mouth off at all. The pair of them were clambering up through the splintered guts of an abandoned town house somewhere in Connecticut, chasing rumors of a peculiar litter of six-legged kittens living in the walls. Newt had never seen a Wampus in person, let alone an infant, and hadn’t been able to resist. 

_ “Ha ha,  _ Newt you’re a riot.” Came the deadpan response, making Newt huff out a laugh. Credence was clunking along behind him, his hair gathered messily behind his head, and he had a smudge of dust across his nose. Newt took the opportunity to smile privately about it. 

Cresting the top of the rickety stairs Newt hoisted himself up through a gap in what was left of the dilapidated ceiling, hearing Credence clamber up behind him. He was standing precariously on a long, thin beam of wood that stretched across the entirety of the cramped attic they now found themselves in, and Newt knelt down to very slowly inch across it in a crawl. 

“There’s, ah- there’s a hole in the wall on the other side, where the floor’s given out, I can see some-  _ oh my-  _ some cotton sticking out, the mother probably has been gathering scraps to make a nest for her babies.” He swayed a bit, and the ominous creaking every time either of them moved weren’t helping matters any, but he was determined to meet his very first Wampus, Merlin be damned. 

“Let’s just focus on not falling to our deaths and take it from there.” Credence muttered behind him, inching along at his own pace and sounding dreadfully focused. 

“It can’t be more than 40 feet, that’s hardly a fatal height- oh! Oh I can hear them, Credence can you hear them?” A soft yowling and sporadic chittering drifted over from the hole in the wall that they drew ever nearer to, and Newt picked up his pace. 

“I think I ca-”

“Shh-sh-sh, quickly, before they disperse in the walls!” Newt swore he could  _ hear  _ Credence rolling his eyes, mingling with the excited kitten sounds, but he was on a mission. He scooted as fast as he could along the beam, aware of Credence snickering at him from behind him but putting that aside for the moment. 

He was nearing the wall now,  _ so  _ close, if he could just…

He reached as far as his arm could stretch, just inches away now, and  _ yes,  _ he could reach the bit of fluff that made up their nest, just-!

The creaking of the wood beneath them went from ominous to urgently groaning and before they could blink, the only thing holding them up snapped with a splintery crack, right between the two of them, and they began their very hasty descent to the floor below.

Newt was able to cushion the worst of the impact of  _ falling through two stories of rotting wood  _ with some quick spellwork, but the pair still landed with a heavy thud in the middle of the ground floor, dust wafting into the air around them and drifting lazily in the sunbeams peeping through the cracks in the walls. 

Credence was sprawled on his back across Newt’s legs, his hair dusted gray and sticking up in an array of unusual directions. Newt was also on his back, groaning and clutching his wand in one hand and- and something else, in his other. He looked out at the fistful of cotton between his fingers and paled. He’d upset the kittens! He’d latched onto their little nest in terror and now they were probably flung all across this scrap heap, oh the poor dears,  _ excellent work as always, Scamander _ -

A soft thud, something small and warm and  _ hissing  _ at him landing squarely in the middle of his chest cut off that train of thought quite abruptly. It stared at him with angry black eyes and far too many teeth than Newt would have preferred. 

“That…is not a Wampus.” 

Credence sat up with a groan and looked over, snorting out a laugh. “I wouldn’t exactly know for sure, but I’d say that it most likely is not a Wampus, seeing as it’s a  _ possum.”  _

Newt could hear the smile in his voice as he stared down the baby - _ American  _ possum, mind, not the cute and cuddly counterpart from down under- which was growing increasingly more irate, scrabbling at his shirtfront with sharp little claws. Another series of small thuds signalled the arrival of the rest of his brood, and hastily Newt levitated the snarling baby off his chest and over with its siblings before the mother could arrive and rain hell upon him for disturbing her children. 

Credence was laughing at him again, laying in the dirt and the dust with his hair wild but a lazy grin on his face all the same, head propped up in one hand. “You think maybe the rumors were a bit off, then?” 

“Oh hush, I think that little guy hexed me somehow, I’m going to have nightmares for weeks. You just  _ have  _ those in America? And no one is  _ terrified?”  _

Credence threw his head back in unexpected laughter, that smudge of dust still across the bridge of his nose, and then he was looking at Newt like he was exactly where he wanted to be, filth, splinters, angry possums and all. 

Newt couldn’t help but grin back, feeling exactly the same. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> definitely shorter than last chapter, hope you enjoyed it! Hopefully I'll catch up soon!


	5. Grow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Little bit of angst here for a change, I'm actually really proud of this one.

Shuffling the paper bag in his arms Credence pulls in a deep breath. The muggy New York air rattling around his lungs again after so long being away was not an entirely unpleasant feeling, and that alone surprised him.

He had been living with Newt in his suitcase (which was shuffled from hotel to inn to hostel on Newt’s long and final leg of fieldwork before his book was to be published) for almost two years now, and the space between being ripped apart in that dark subway tunnel and waking up half-dead on the Goldsteins’ doorstep felt like he really had died that night, and everything good he had now was someone up there giving him a second chance. He didn’t quite remember when it had stopped feeling like whoever it was was going to pull the rug out from under him, but he was just thankful to anyone who would listen that so far his luck was holding. And what a strange thing, to feel so laden with gifts in this life, when every breath he had taken in the one he had left behind was an act of survival.

He could hear Newt in his head already, just as if he were sitting at his desk with ink on his cheek as he explained with a glint in his eye how Doxies had evolved to have extra limbs. _“Surviving is not an inferior state of being in the absence of thriving; survival is an act of strength. If one lives and breaths in this world it must fight for every minute of its existence, and for every day that it still stands in the face of everything opposing it, it grows that much stronger.“_ He always had this incredible knack of telling you something about some creature or another, and it turning out to be immensely helpful advice that you didn’t even know you needed to hear. He doubted Newt himself new just how wise he was, but then one of his favorite things about Newt Scamander (and ironically what made Credence the most nervous in his early days living with him) was that he was entirely unpredictable.

The thought made him smile softly to himself, and he took another breath of New York air that didn’t seem to choke him like it used to before crossing the street. He had volunteered to pick up some ingredients that Jacob and Queenie needed for dinner that night, both to get a little bit of fresh air and to privately see if he could come back to this city in one piece and not immediately fall apart again. Newt had offered to tag along, but he was promptly plopped onto a sofa between two very proud Goldstein sisters (and one very proud pastry chef) and prodded lightheartedly to read aloud from the very first printed copy of _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them,_ hand delivered from the author himself.

So far Credence was proud of how well he was holding up, the dirty streets and towering buildings feeling like snakes without fangs now that he’d found a place that actually feels how a home should. He’d even started humming to himself as he walked, relief that he was actually maybe-sort of-mostly okay flooding through him like champagne in his veins.

In hindsight he should’ve have expected it, shouldn’t have been so foolish as to think he could step over the old bones of the city of his past and not bump into a few ghosts.

He rounded a corner onto Pike street almost as if by memory, like his feet had rediscovered the old grooves in the sidewalk made from years of haunting the streets, passing out flyers with garish words he didn’t believe in, for a mother who wasn’t his. The moment he laid eyes on what was left of the church he froze, the paper bag slipping from slack hands and sending vegetables rolling across the pavement.

After all his time away the church still lay in ruins, charred and splintered wood jutting from the ground like mangled tombstones. Even now, as Credence watched, people crossed the street to avoid going near it, like they could see the scars of what happened there. Consecrated in pain and rage and nothing near holy, treated like hallowed ground.  

A tear slipped down his cheek as it hit him hard enough to shatter that that is exactly what it was. A graveyard, a once sacred place where his mother, his sister, and his childhood are buried.

He had hoped it would have been renovated into a hat shop or a delicatessen or _anything else_ in his absence so he wouldn't recognize it if he ever felt reckless enough to wander down this damned street, but Credence knew far too well the feeling of a wound that just wouldn't close.

Just when he thought he’d be sucked into the dirt and be trapped between the floorboards of his past forever, he spotted something that made his breath catch in his throat.

In the middle of the carnage and decay a little patch of plant life was blooming, fresh green leaves wet with dew and the little blue faces of flowers nestled in the rubble and standing out starkly against the gloom. He was seeing it, plain as day, but his mind couldn’t comprehend it as a reality. How could this place for dead and howling things be home to anything but? How could something _live_ where once so much had suffered, had died?

He realized with a jolt that he recognized the flowers.

They were forget-me-nots.

He wanted to scream.

_This isn’t right, this can’t be real, people walk past and it doesn’t even matter to them, little kids probably climb over the ruin and pick those flowers no this can’t be happening I can’t- I don’t-_

He was only aware of how fast he was breathing when someone bumped into him from behind knocking into his shoulder and blundering past without a word. Some stranger, probably on his way to work, Credence having a breakdown in front of a broken down church probably just static in the background of New York to him. The impact spun him around and he stood there heaving for breath with groceries at his feet and suddenly, the church at his back, he was there, static in the background of New York, not two years in the past with his sister’s blood in the creases of his hands.

He didn’t know how long he’d been standing there, but the sun had begun to dip between the buildings, spears of amber light jutting across the bustling city.

He stood there and breathed for a while, steady ins and outs of that muggy familiar air, and when he could trust himself to move he wiped the cold tear tracks from his cheeks and bent to collect his groceries. Without another glance at the broken building behind him he pushed his shoulders back and started off on the quickest route back to the Goldsteins’ apartment, counting his breaths.

On his way back, he thought about what Newt would have said if he’d been with him, if he would have known what to say at all.

Newt always had something to say, though, and he didn’t doubt that he would’ve gone really quiet, wrung his hands like he did when he was thinking of the right words for something important, and said something terribly cryptic but penetratingly profound. He would’ve probably fluttered a hand to lay on Credence’s shoulder, only to pull away at the last moment and turn away from him, and say something like, _“Life can come from death, flowers can grow between old bones and joy can be born from tragedy. Life moves, life goes on, and you will survive, because you are stronger than you were then.”_

Credence would be breathless, like he always was when Newt said things like that, and he’d tuck the words away to whisper when it was dark and he couldn’t sleep and he needed them most, and try desperately to believe they were true.

Comforted, Credence tried to shake off the strangeness of the evening and quickened his pace, eager to get back and hear what the real thing had to say.

He knew that going back to the remains of his old life would always do that to him, always try and drag him back down into the Hell of old mistakes and regrets. But with Newt, he never knew what tomorrow would bring. He only knew that with Newt, with his new family, he was both surviving _and_ thriving.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> writing Credence and what goes on in his head is such an experience, please let me know what you think!!


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